The Two-Night One-Night Stand (10 page)

ONCE I PLACE a fifty on the bar, the bartender takes our drink orders. I have successfully downloaded the Uber app onto my phone, so if I drink a little too much,
which I plan to
, I have no worries of getting a safe ride home.

I’m feeling good. And why shouldn’t I? For the next thirty-two hours, I’m a free man. No work. And to celebrate, I’ve accepted an invitation for a night out with a coworker. A guy who isn’t one of my brothers, at a bar that is completely new to me on the other side of town.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this.” Jeremy raises his cider up to me before sipping. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I have to be honest, when I asked if you wanted to go for drinks, I figured you’d say no.”

“No way. A night out is just what I needed. I don’t get out enough.” I reach for my beer. “Why’d you think I’d say no?”

He shrugs. “I guess partly because you’re a PA and I’m a just a Unit Clerk. I thought you might think it was weird. Plus, I don’t know, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you kind of come across as a bit of a loner.”

Is that the vibe I give off at work? An unapproachable loner? Shit, that’s not what I want.

“No, I’m thrilled you asked me to meet you here.” Okay, the word thrilled might be pouring it on a little thick but then again, I don’t want him thinking I’m some arrogant tool, so maybe pouring it on a little thick is needed. “This is awesome. Really. Cheers.” I raise my bottle and he clinks his glass into it. A grin peeks out through his thick beard and I relax, tilting my head back for a big swig of beer.

Colorful lights spin from the platform in the corner and the lights dim. A DJ turns on his mic and introduces himself to the bar. He bellows the word, “Shaaaaade,” into the microphone. It’s a private joke of sorts as a few of the guys laugh and point at each other. Music so loud it shakes the roof roars through the bar, making conversation almost impossible.

One Direction with a techno twist blares from the speakers. My knee bounces along in rhythm to the wild dance mix version. All of my nieces have had individual crushes on the members of this boy band at one time or another. I know their music well, too well. A few words slip out and I accidentally begin singing along. Fortunately, Jeremy doesn’t seem to mind and even joins in for the chorus.

“Harry, right?” he yells over the music with a nod and a chuckle.

I laugh and nod along with him. He must have nieces too.

The bartender returns. “You guys good over here?” he yells.

“Shot?” I project my voice over the pulsating music.

“Yeah, sure.” He leans in closer to my ear so I can hear him. “You like Lemon Drops?”

I don’t know what that is but I say, “Sure,” and the bartender pours up two shots. They go down smooth. Easy. They’re not that strong. I hold up two fingers. The bartender mixes up two more and once again, down the sweet, weak alcohol goes.

“From here?” The bartender points to my change sitting on the bar.

“No, these are on me.” Jeremy reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

“No, take it from here. And add two more on, less lemon, more vodka this time.” I instruct the bartender, and encourage Jeremy to put his wallet away. “Tonight’s on me. My way of saying thanks for asking me to join you.”

Jeremy gives my shoulder a tight squeeze. “I’m really glad I did,” he says, leaning in close enough that the coarse hairs of his beard graze my earlobe.

The third shot is set in front of us and this time it leaves a powerful sting when it slides down my throat. I place another fifty down on the bar for me and the new friend I’m incredibly glad to have made. Maybe that loner theory wasn’t too far off. Now, if only I can find a girlfriend or at the very least, a date that lasts longer than one night, I’ll be all set.

“You ever date anyone at work?” I ask. Tonight’s going so well, it has me reconsidering if perhaps I should ask out one of the girls from the hospital.

“Once,” he says with a sigh. “It didn’t go so great. Not like this is going.”

“Exactly,” I say with conviction. “This is great, that’s why I’m asking.”

“This is great,” he agrees and once again leans forward, the scruff of his beard squeamishly close to my face. His fingers walk their way over to my thigh, giving it a firm squeeze.

Huh?
What’s going on here? This isn’t right.
Peen’s aware something’s wrong and tries to warn me.

Jeremy’s face moves in even closer, lining up with mine. I don’t understand what’s going on, and when I do, my reaction time is slowed by the three shots of vodka sloshing their way through my system.

His fur-covered face moves in.

His dry lips part.

I see teeth.

I see tongue.

Ohhhhhhh noooooooo. Ruuuuuuunnnn!
Peen shouts in slow motion.

But it’s too late and before I can take action, his tongue crashes down and swirls over my tightly sealed lips.

CODE GREEN! EVACUATE THE BUILDING!
Peen shrivels up inside me to take cover. Either that or he’s dead.

My head jerks back with such vigor, I may actually have whiplash. I gulp a breath, sucking in the rancid scent of lemon mixed with the apple cider that lingers on his breath. A rumbling gurgle forces its way up my throat and I somehow manage to swallow it back down.

Jeremy sits back in his seat and I stay glued in place. We both just stare ahead. I open my mouth but no words come out. My lips slam shut. I think it’s best if I wait for him to say something first.

“You’re not gay, are you?” he asks after a full minute’s gone by.

“No.” I reach for my beer and guzzle down a long swig. Jeremy is gay? I scramble for any type of logic I can muster. But he has a beard? Gay guys don’t have beards. I’m being ridiculous. But come on… how did I not know? Or is the better question, how did he not know I was straight?

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure when I asked you out.” He plays with the white cocktail napkin under his cider. “But you said yes, then you paid for the drinks, sang along with One Direction, we started drinking Lemon Drops, then you asked about dating at work. I just thought….” He stops. “Shit. I totally fucked up.”

I reach up and scratch the back of my neck. It wasn’t him. This was my fuckup. Glancing around the bar with new eyes, I mentally curse myself for not seeing this night for what it so clearly is. The bartender is wearing a vest with no shirt. Two men are having a dance off to a Britney Spears song. There isn’t one girl in the place; it’s a total sausage fest. My foot taps nervously underneath my stool. Jesus Christ… the name of this bar is Crossed Swords.

It’s official, there is no one out there more clueless than I am.

Jeremy grabs his coat from the hook under the bar. “I should go. And please let me pay for my drinks.” Again, he reaches for his wallet.

“You don’t have to go. This was my fault. Things like this usually are.” I motion for him to sit back down and he does. “I can see how this must have looked.”

“So, you’re just looking for…?” He leaves the sentence open for me to fill in.

“A friend. Unfortunately, I don’t have many. I guess you were right before when you called me a loner.”

“More drinks?” The bartender reappears, leaning forward on the bar in between us. His arms are tan and jacked. I quickly avert my eyes to avoid any further misunderstandings.

Jeremy starts to shake his head no. He slips into his coat. If I let it end like this, there’ll be nothing but awkwardness between us. I can’t have that, nor do I want it. I like Jeremy. “Yes, I’ll take another beer. And he’ll have another cider?” Jeremy stops, surprised by my response. His face breaks into a grin and he nods, sitting back down. “And two more shots. But make mine a whisky this time,” I add in quickly. Apparently the lemon shot is some type of signal I want to avoid. Mental note, so is singing along to One Direction.

“You’re not mad?” Jeremy hangs his coat back on the hook.

“Not at all. It was just a misunderstanding.” I’m just sorry that it took him kissing me for me to realize.

The bartender slides over our shots, Jeremy lifts his and I raise mine up too. “Friends.”

“Friends,” I repeat with a clink into his glass.

“You won’t mention this little mix-up to anyone at work?” he asks before downing the lemony booze.

I lift up my whisky, drunkenness already beginning to creep its way in. “I can
guar-an-tee
you that I will not be sharing this story at work.”

Or anywhere else for that matter.

MY VISION IS completely blurred as I watch three Jaynes stagger in a zigzag line into her apartment building. We hit a total of four bars tonight and did a minimum of two shots at each one, so that means like at least… eleven, or maybe thirteen?

Who the fuck knows? I’m hammered.

I drank Tyler right out of my system. And if any thoughts of him return tomorrow, well, then that’s tomorrow’s problem.

My stomach gives a sloshy rumble.

“Uber guy. Can we stop at Mickey D’s?”

“No, it’s too far out of the way,” he says, slowing down at a traffic light.

Bummer. I’m starving.

“Uber guy, what about pizza? Romeo’s is around here. Can you drop me off there?”

“My name is Dave.”

“Sorry.” I giggle at my rudeness. “So, um, Uber Dave, can you drop me off at Romeo’s?”

“That’s one block over. I’ll drop you off, but I’m not waiting. If you need a ride after that, you use the app and call for someone else.”

I search through my purse, looking for some money to bribe him with. A few extra bucks might convince him to wait. My wallet is empty, but I do find a crumpled up ten at the bottom of my bag. Enough for two slices and a drink, but not enough for a bribe. “Fine, drop me off.” Now that I have pizza on my inebriated brain, I must have it. At least I can thank God for the no-cash Uber policy. But too bad for Uber Dave, it looks like he won’t be getting a tip.

“I’m gonna get extra cheese or extra mushrooms,” I announce to a man who couldn’t give two fucks. “Or maybe I’ll just have an extra slice with extra cheese and extra mushrooms. What do you think?” Regardless of whether he gives a fuck or not, my drunken ass wants his opinion.

“Yeah, mushrooms and cheese. Fantastic. Have a good night.” The car’s parked and he wants me out.

Snow has started to coat the streets, probably why Uber Dave won’t wait. An ounce of worry sneaks its way in. Should I go straight home? Romeo’s garlicy aroma wafts into the car and makes that worry vanish. It’s just a little snow.

I push open the door and the bells chime in the pizza place as I enter. The place is empty except for one booth in the back. I stumble a few steps from the snow on my heels, then rush up to the counter and point at the mushroom pizza behind the glass. “Can I get two slices and can you throw some extra cheese on them before you heat it up?”

“No problem, I’ll bring ’em over to you when they’re ready.” The guy slices into the pizza. I stop at the refrigerator on my way to the table for a Snapple.

Two men are wrapped up in conversation in a back booth; neither of them look up and notice me as I drop into the booth in front of theirs. I pop open my Snapple and read the fact.
Only male turkeys gobble
. I laugh and for some reason think of Matthew and how he blurted out that random fact at the hospital. If I hadn’t just been through one of the worst nights of my life, I probably would have found his awkwardness a little more endearing and taken more than a few quick seconds to admire the body I had gotten very familiar with on Halloween. But given the circumstances, all I had wanted was to get the fuck out of there. Stupid-ass Nick.